


What to do when you’ve replaced yourself

by BuffaloBuddy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Dark Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley Bashing, Harry Potter is So Done, Hermione Granger Bashing, M/M, Might stab an idiot to get a break, Molly Weasley Bashing, Ron Weasley Bashing, The Weasleys are bad parents, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuffaloBuddy/pseuds/BuffaloBuddy
Summary: At 29 years old, Harry’s had a weird life so far. First the Dursleys, who were not normal, no matter what they liked to tell the neighbors, then learning he was a wizard, yearly life-endangering events at school (sometimes multiple times a year!), the return of a psychopath, war and eventually murder. All before he turned 18! Then things were ok for a bit, then they really, really weren’t. He learned a lot along the way from how to set up a campsite to how to plan an assassination and he eventually just learned to roll with fate’s punches.This though? This takes the cake.What in Merlin’s name is he supposed to do when it seems he’s time traveled, and 5-year-old Harry is nowhere to be found?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 112
Kudos: 637





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been getting distracted with plot ideas and this seems like a good enough one to put to paper. So...
> 
> 1\. Romance is background for now, Harry might not even meet Snape for a bit and I have no idea where it might go.  
> 2\. Tags will change as new ideas develop.  
> 3\. Rating and warnings are unlikely to change (but never say never).
> 
> As always, I'm in it for shits and giggles while J.K. Rowling owns everything.
> 
> WARNING: I'm a rather slow updater but will always notify if something is being abandoned/up for adoption.

Harry sprang upright, smashing his head into something wooden with a solid thunk.

“FUCK!” he whisper-shouted as his head ricocheted back down to the floor.

It was only ingrained habit from years on the run that kept him from screaming the expletive even as his head was pounding and he was rather certain that was blood dripping down his temple.

Slowly regaining his senses, Harry tensed as his surroundings began to register and his legs started cramping from the awkward position. Wherever he was, it was a small space and his legs were curled up and slightly twisted to allow him to lay on his back.

Was he captured? The last thing he remembered was running from the Cleaners. Though after 8 years of being a thorn in the side of the new Ministry, he’d have thought they’d put him down immediately instead of trying to capture him again. It hadn’t worked out so well for them last time and in fact, he’s pretty sure those were AKs flying through the alley behind him.

Twisting and bumping his elbows in the tiny space, Harry flicked his wrist to conjure a tempus. He’d gotten much better over the past couple years after they’d snapped his wand during the first capture. Though he certainly missed the ease a wand gave to more complicated spells and wards. Muggle repelling wards especially were a bitch to set up without a wand but he managed.

Harry blinked blankly at the numbers floating gently in front of his face that slightly illuminated the room. Or should he say cupboard because what he could see was shockingly reminiscent of _his_ cupboard. And those numbers couldn’t be right.

He canceled and re-did the charm, ignoring the unease slowly coiling in his gut.

_01:39AM September 9 th, 1985_

No.

_01:39AM September 9 th, 1985_

Not possible.

_01:40AM September 9 th, 1985_

What the fuck.

Harry had the sudden urge to laugh hysterically and had to muffle his snort of disbelief in his palm because there was just no way.

But he wasn’t dreaming.

And he wasn’t dead.

And as the cramps in his legs were screaming: this was all very real.

He groaned and decided to see if he could get out of this tiny space first. That spasm in his thigh promised pain if he didn’t move now.

Reaching on vague memory, he found the old shoelace hanging near the front and pulled. Besides almost blinding himself, Harry was shocked anew at the sight of his childhood room. Even his messy scrawl on the back wall stating _Harry’s Room_ and although it had gone unnoticed earlier, there was a ratty, threadbare blanket half draped over one of his legs.

After a quick unlocking charm, much twisting and grunting, and banging his knee twice, Harry finally stood up in the partially illuminated front hallway of his Aunt and Uncle’s house.

This was too bizarre.

He should be running for his life right now. Or breaking into another ‘Reform Camp’. Or even huddled in his safe house, otherwise known as the re-fideliused Grimmauld Place.

He was 29 for crying out loud. He’d barely thought of the Dursleys let alone his cupboard in almost a decade. If anything, his nightmares featured fake friends and firing squads not old abuse.

Still in a daze, Harry followed his instincts to cover his tracks and relocked the cupboard before exploring the house.

It was too detailed to be a dream or illusion. Would the ministry really go through the effort of getting the brand of Petunia’s tea right? Or even the placement of their mugs in the cabinet?

Harry was surprised he even remembered these things but Aunt Petunia was nothing else if not a creature of habit. He had been smacked for leaving things even slightly off center and some long-ingrained instinct was telling him to fix the one cup on the right which he remembered he always had trouble with since he wasn’t tall enough to place it properly on the shelf.

Idly poking the wayward cup into place, Harry shook his head to clear it of resurging memories and headed outside.

Left staring at the quiet neighborhood, peacefully asleep with only the flicker of a streetlamp to break the silence, Harry had to face the truth. He didn’t know how and he didn’t know why but he was in 1985.

Not only that, but virtually everything he knew about time travel (which admittedly wasn’t all that much) would need to be thrown out the window because as bizarre as it sounded, 1985 Harry was no where to be found, he seemed to have replaced his 5-year-old self and the timeline was most definitely fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATED: Harry notices the bit about a dormant Horcrux
> 
> UPDATED: More details about Harry's identity as Orion's bastard child.

Harry took a deep breath before tapping the bricks and opening Diagon Alley.

It was almost 6am and he couldn’t be more thankful for the empty streets and Leaky Cauldron. Tom hadn’t even been at the bar yet and there was only the occasional early bird walking the alley. Some of the shopkeepers maybe. Along with a few others that looked either still half-asleep or like they’d never made it to bed last night.

It was weird seeing people so… normal. He wasn’t used to seeing witches and wizards without the white Phoenix patch on their sleeves and walking around so casually. He was used to nervous citizens, 24/7 patrols, random inspections, hiding his identity and constantly looking over his shoulder in case he’d been spotted.

None of this felt very real yet but he’d sat in that dilapidated park in Surrey for the past 4 hours trying to figure out what to do and he’d come to the awe-inspiring and nerve-wracking conclusion that there was likely no going back and the timeline was already irreparably changed from what he knew.

Once again, he was being forced to roll with fate’s punches.

Though more than any other crazy shit he’d faced in his life, the possibilities this time made him giddy with excitement. So much was wrong with the world he’d left and almost all of it boiled down to the events of his school years. He’d done what he could, mostly involving rescue missions, supply raids and the occasional assassination but when almost everyone you knew and loved turned out to be the primary organizers and supporters of a wizarding holocaust, there was only so much a single person could do.

But if he had the chance to change things before they started?

Well, the first thing he’d like to do is kill Dumblefuck, the original messiah of the Light. But that’d take some planning since he currently held four important titles and if the Aurors get even a whiff of his death being anything but natural, he’d find himself on the run again – which he really didn’t want to be since it looked like he might actually get a chance to life a normal life here.

Plus, there were other factors to consider. Like Voldemort, who is still alive-ish. Supposedly a wraith haunting Albania around this time. Or the Purebloods who still had political power and weren’t running for their lives. Or even his identity.

He couldn’t just pop into Bones’ cellar for new papers anymore. Susan was only 5 right now and 80s Magical Britain was so above-board he had absolutely no clue where to go to get even a basic fake ID.

He couldn’t even go back to Grimmauld because that old elf was still alive and the Black Lord might be too. Harry wasn’t really sure when the old guy died, just that it was before Sirius escaped Azkaban.

And Sirius, Merlin, that was an emotional can of worms he didn’t have time to open right now. He’ll think about it later.

Logically, his only options right now were to live like a nomad and possibly attract attention with how not normal that is in this day and age, or somehow take the legal route and get himself a new identity (before killing Dumbledore and a choice few idiots).

And since he really wanted to take advantage of his situation, Harry had spent the last hour of his four-hour squat in the Surrey park throwing around ideas for the legal option.

Finally, he’d decided his best bet was to go to the Goblins. Although the Ministry wasn’t hunting down dark creatures and killing dissenters in droves yet, they _were_ corrupt as all hell. So, the Goblins were his only option for low key legal documents. Although Harry still didn’t know what to expect since he hadn’t dealt much with Goblins after his disastrous 7th year besides the occasional back-alley trade. They’d taken their nation underground when they realized the new Light Ministry’s aims and completely cut ties with Magical Britain. Leaving the wizarding citizens and other creatures to fend for themselves on a Magically locked down island.

Apparently, that was a thing the Ministry could do in an emergency (or under a totalitarian regime). Nobody in, nobody out, and if you try the muggle way, you find yourself forcefully apparated into a holding cell.

So here Harry was, striding up the marble front steps of Gringotts at 6am.

He nodded at the guards stationed on either side of the door, but they didn’t even twitch from their posts.

Harry walked up to the nearest teller, they were all empty at this time anyway, and waited patiently while the goblin finished writing something. With a final flick of his quill and an aggressive stamp, the goblin slid his work to the side and eyed Harry carefully.

“Purpose of your visit?” he growled.

Harry wasn’t offended. He figured out after a few years of clandestine deals (although on their own lock-down some goblins still wanted wizarding products) that goblins were just naturally gruff. Their culture valued power: physical, political, and financial as well as efficiency. They had little care for social niceties that only wasted time.

“Is it possible to speak privately?”

The goblin squinted at him. “No.”

Harry winced, “It is in regards to some time travel.”

He knew it was a long shot, but he’d decided to be honest with the goblins since one of the first things they’d do was probably give him an inheritance test since without his vaults he couldn’t pay for fake papers.

The goblin blinked at him slowly in what Harry thought might be shock before grunting out “Fine.”

The goblin then waved over another before speaking rapidly in gobbledygook. The newer goblin was much more expressive and openly stared at Harry before jumping into action and offering a somewhat more polite “Follow me.”

As he was lead down twisting and intersecting hallways, Harry admired the strange architecture of Gringotts. He’d been much too young to notice before, but the halls were a strange mix of Greek pillars, western doors and curved walls. Meanwhile the halls themselves made little sense since Harry could swear, they’d taken six rights and possibly gone in a spiral before heading straight through what should have been their earlier path without going further below or above ground.

The whole place reminded him somewhat of Hogwarts and her finicky halls.

Finally, his guide stopped outside a wood door that had been elaborately carved with vines and leaves of all types knotted together. They waited a for almost a minute after knocking and Harry was tempted to ask if everything was alright. But his guide hadn’t twitched so he stayed still as well. Eventually, the door creaked open loudly and Harry was ushered into a tiny little room with two desks and a chair sitting in a triangle. At one of the desks was the oldest goblin Harry had ever seen. It looked as tiny as a house elf, with paper-thin wrinkled skin, receding hairline of shockingly white hair, age spots all over and dressed in an old Victorian style blouse and vest. However, the weirdest part was that the goblin appeared to be sleeping, slumped back slightly with it’s mouth open, pointy, yellow teeth on display and snoring quietly.

His guide, who he just noticed hadn’t left, coughed lightly and when there was no response, tried again louder.

Still nothing. This was getting a bit awkward.

Finally, his guide gave up and shouted to wake up his associate.

“Fenlock!”

The old goblin jolted awake and almost fell from his chair.

Sheepishly he looked at his guests and spoke in a voice like old gravel. “Ah! Griphook! You have one for me? Gosh, how many years has it been?”

Griphook? Why did that name sound so familiar?

“Yes. 89 years. The papers?”

“Of course, of course. Come closer boy. My name is Fenlock. We’ll be testing you for magical name, family, history and vaults. Standard procedure for time travel. Then we can see about getting you settled.”

Well that was nice. So there _were_ actually procedures for time travelers. He wasn’t sure and it’d been a bit of a risk telling them but at least he knew he wasn’t the only one. Maybe they’d have an idea how it happened (though given how his life and the future were, he honestly was happier not going back).

Harry nodded politely and sat in the chair part of the triangle set-up while Griphook silently left and closed the door.

“Good, good. Now, infuse the parchment with your magic, add three drops of blood to the circle at the top and we’ll get started.”

Harry did as asked, ignoring the offered blade and simply biting his finger. So sense in leaving his blood around. A muttered healing spell and he was handing back the parchment.

Fenlock then placed both his withered, spindly hands on the paper before carefully chanting in gobbledygook. When he finished, he carefully read the contents before nodding and ringing a tiny bell Harry hadn’t noticed before. Griphook came back in and the two conversed in gobbledygook before Griphook must have been sent away and Fenlock turned back to Harry.

“Now read and tell me if everything matches as expected while we wait for your family account managers.”

Harry nodded and took the parchment, rather curious to see what it said about him.

**Hadrian James Potter**

**Born:** July 31, 1980

 **Age:** 29

 **Core:** dark grey

 **Talents:** protective magics, offensive magics, spiritual magics

**Heir to:**

***** Denotes Lordship available

Potter* via blood

Peverell* via blood and death

Black* via blood and naming

Slytherin* via conquest

**Vaults:**

***** Denotes Lordship necessary

Potter: 409*, 629*, 687

Peverell: 12* (empty)

Black: 220*, 233*, 400* (incarcerated)

Slytherin: 7*

**Notable:**

Touched by death

Horcrux in forehead (dormant)

Survivor of basilisk venom

Exposure to Phoenix tears

Time traveler

Harry slumped back in his chair thoughtfully. It was a lot. First and foremost was his name though. How has no one ever told him Harry was a nickname??? He’d literally gone almost 30 years thinking Harry was his one and only name. Not even Sirius or Remus mentioned his name being Hadrian! Then there was the dark grey core. What did that mean? Did that mean he was a dark wizard? He had no problem with that. If anything could take care of magical prejudice it was witnessing mass genocide and discrimination. But was it important? He had no idea. The talents section was cool. Though again, he had no idea what spiritual magics were or meant for him. Then there was the stuff about the heirships. What did it mean by death? And what the hell was with the notable section?!

Harry cleared his throat to get the goblin’s attention. Fenlock seemed to be drifting off again with his eyes closed and slumping down on the arm of his chair.

“Ah-hem! Fenlock? Fenlock! Could you explain the heir section? And the notable stuff? I’m not sure why it mentions death multiple times.”

Fenlock snapped out of his slight slump and shook his head. “Ah, yes, the heirships.” He snatched the parchment back with unexpected nimbleness.

“It says here you are heir to the Potter line by blood, this should be obvious because you are the last remaining Potter no matter your status as a time traveler. The Peverells are an extinct line that married into the Potter’s repeatedly. Though the Lordship hasn’t been claimed in over 500 years since there is a stipulation that any inheritor needs to be touched by death, which you qualify as. The Peverells were notorious for their work in necromancy and spiritual magics after all and they were proud of it. It seems you also inherited the distant talent for spiritual magics. If memory serves, you would have had an equal claim to the Black Lordship with another - which became available just last month - but you were also named by the last heir to succeed them. This person, I believe, is currently incarcerated and the owner of vault 400. Their incarceration disqualified them from inheriting according to the Black Family Charter, but they had already named you, which on top of your age qualifies you over the other heir. Please note that the second inheritor, a Malfoy I believe, is automatically the Black heir apparent until you have children due to the way in which you have inherited. Finally, I cannot speak on the conquest mentioned but it had to have been a battle to the death, declared and accepted by both sides where you defeated your adversary and magic bequeathed their Lordship unto you. It seems you will be well-set to starting your new life in this time Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded vaguely, though he wondered if he wasn’t biting off more than he could chew. Lordships and estates took managing and had responsibilities. What those responsibilities were, he had no idea given the life he’d lived but if he was going legal this time, he’d need to figure it out.

“And the notable section? Some of it makes sense, but what does touched by death mean? And the Horcrux should be long gone, destroyed when I was 17…” Merlin, did it come back because he did? How did that even work?

Fenlock looked at him shrewdly for a moment before huffing and looking away. “I do not know, Mr. Potter.”

Harry blinked. Well that’s not helpful at all!

Just then, a knock came at the door and Harry was surprised to see four goblins come trooping into the room. Even more shocking was the second desk they all sat at which had magically expanded without his noticing.

After they had all settled in the now rather crowded room, introductions were made and Harry came to know Axel, Dragrock, Glorite, and Racker, Managers of the Potter, Peverell, Black and Slytherin accounts respectively. They quickly set to work having Harry claim his Lordships magically and select a name to fill out the corresponding paperwork with. He would then be working with Fenlock to set up his identity and could make appointments with each of them to manage his accounts when he was done.

Mostly Harry just nodded and signed where asked.

He didn’t even have to think about the name either as Racker recommended that he stay away from the Potter, Slytherin and Peverell names publicly due to their connotations and connections, and Glorite agreed that it would be easier to hide his origins in the prolific Black family.

By the end of the day, he was walking out of Gringotts as Hadrian Black, Lord Black-Potter-Peverell-Slytherin, just Lord Black for short, lost grandchild of Arcturus Black and illicit love-child of Orion Black and a woman he actually did have an affair with who ran away after threats from Walburga. Oddly enough this made him Sirius’ half-brother.

He was damn lucky the last Lord Black had just died otherwise it would have been a lot more complicated to set up a backstory as Arcturus would have demanded an inheritance test. Now he could just say Gringotts sought him out upon Arcturus’ death and the Family Magic accepting him would be proof enough for everyone else that he was a Black.

Harry, or Hadrian now, was also 50,000 galleons poorer since he hadn’t thought to ask how much those services cost. Apparently both the Potter and Black vaults held millions so it was no big deal but seriously?! What if he didn’t have any vaults? Would they just send him down the mine to work off his debt or would they have given him a payment plan?

At least it was worth the money. Not only did he have birth and homeschooling records but the goblins were even building a Harry Potter goblin for the Dursleys to fake his death. One anonymous call to the police by a concerned neighbor and the Dursleys should be off to prison. Or foster care in the case of Dudley. It would take a couple days to make but by next week, Harry Potter would be officially dead.

The concept was a little crazy for Hadrian to think about, even though he knew this was probably the best way to cover his tracks. They could have maybe postponed the wizarding world finding out until Harry needed to go to Hogwarts but Axel brought up how that might make some, namely Dumbledore who’d been trying to access the Potter accounts for years, question a cover-up. At least this way everything could be neatly wrapped up and people might even begin questioning Dumbledore a bit when they realized it was his fault.

The only loose end was Arabella Figg, his old babysitter and Dumbledore’s neighborhood spy. He could’ve had the goblins memory charm her along with the Dursleys but he had questions that only she could answer.

With a pop, Hadrian found himself back on Privet Drive and stalked over to Arabella Figg’s residence on the next street. Noticing a twitch in a neighbor’s curtains, Hadrian remembered how strange he must look. Well-worn cargo pants tucked into dragon-hide boots, faded blue button down and wizarding style brown long-coat reminiscent of a cloak. The coats became popular around the turn of the millennium which Hadrian had completely forgotten about.

Although his outfit was rather muggle compared to 80s wizards, it was by no means _this_ kind of muggle.

Suburban muggle.

With an annoyed sigh, Hadrian ducked behind a hedge and glamoured himself to look as generic as possible. Brown shoes, khaki trousers, clean white button down and one of those plasticky jackets that he remembered being popular in his childhood. Any wizard would pick up on the telltale magical prickle, a sign of glamours, but Figg shouldn’t notice, nor any nosy neighbors.

Now back on track and blending in, Hadrian sped up before stopping in front of Figg’s house. He hadn’t done this in a few years and it always made him uncomfortable - made him remember Snape’s horrible lessons. But he’d gotten better with experience and sometimes you just don’t have time to weasel out your information.

He rang the bell and he could hear multiple cats caterwauling behind the door before Arabella peaked out.

“Can I help you?” she asked, giving him a confused but polite look.

Merlin, he’d forgotten that smell. Just how many cats did she have in that tiny house? That can’t be healthy for her or the cats.

“Yes, it involves Harry Potter. Dumbledore sent me, could we speak inside?”

Her eyes bugged out before quickly scanning the street and ushering him in.

But Hadrian really didn’t want to spend any more time here so before she could even offer him tea, he flicked his wrist and entered her mind with a silent legilimense.

Diving deep with no care as to the pain he might be causing, Hadrian snorted as he finally came upon the information he wanted. He was right, she had been reporting to Dumbledore. Moved onto the block December 1981 and kept an eye on little Harry ever since, sending the old fool letters every month or whenever something important happened.

She, of course, knew about the abuse. Saw the bruises, noted his malnourishment, even wrote about how the Dursleys convinced everyone in the neighborhood that he was a delinquent and how the local boys liked to play Harry Hunting up and down the street. And she didn’t care one bit. Dumbledore said he needed to be humble so everything must be so. A little struggling would make him stronger!

It was disgusting. Ripping himself out of her mind, Hadrian sneered at the pathetic woman as she collapsed to the floor moaning and clutching her head. Even the cats didn’t seem to care – simply watching him from their various places around the room. One black cat even came up to sniff his glamoured boots before purring and rubbing around his legs.

Hadrian laughed and levitated the woman onto a nearby couch. 15 minutes later he was walking out with a pile of copied letters and a new cat.

He’d wanted to simply leave after memory charming Figg to not notice Harry’s absence for the next week and forget his visit but on his way out the black cat that seemed to have taken a shine to him threw a fuss running back and forth between Harry and the bedroom.

Curious, (he knew some of Figg’s cats were kneazle mixes and could be quite smart) he followed and was led to the woman’s desk where the cat knocked over a shoe box filled with scrolls.

Turns out Figg was a crappy spy and kept every single correspondence she’d had with Dumbledore since November 1981 which was when Dumbledore had first reached out about a possible assignment.

This discovery warranted a reward and since the cat seemed to like him, he could at least give it a better home.

Besides, it was cute and fluffy and with where he was going, he’d need that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to some feedback by sakura_lisel, I've made a couple small corrections to the last chapter.
> 
> 1\. Harry notices the bit about a dormant Horcrux in the scan but has info overload and forgets until later  
> 2\. Now there are more details about Harry's identity (i.e. He is pretending to be Orion's bastard son from an affair Orion really did have where Walburga found out and scared the poor lady off)
> 
> SPOILER:  
> Harry remembers the Horcrux issue at the end of this chapter and finds out why in the next chapter but nothing happens for awhile since it involves Voldy.

One apparition later and he was standing on the stoop of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Geez it already looked run down.

According to Glorite, the Black Account Manager, before his death Arcturus Black had lived on his own estate separate from the townhouse, which was actually the family’s primary residence since they’d sold their manor in the early 1920s to pay off some debts. The accounts had refilled after some fortuitous investing by the next two heads of the family but they never bought another manor.

Furthermore, this place had basically been abandoned since Walburga’s death in 1982 which was months after his supposed father, Orion’s death. Not too long without tenants, but long enough for things to look shabby. Hopefully Kreacher would still be sane at least.

Now, walking up the stoop and entering the dark and somewhat dank townhouse, Hadrian sighed in annoyance. He’d put a lot of time and effort into this place in his timeline. It was his safehouse and home and it looked like crap again. All that ugly wallpaper was still intact, mysterious water stains on the walls and dust everywhere. Obviously even alive, Kreacher wasn’t dusting.

He’d never known Kreacher all that well, the elf died sometime after the place was abandoned after the war in 1998 and it wasn’t until the lockdown and purges started in 2000 that he’d run away and hid here.

He’d felt guilty when he realized Kreacher had likely died alone but things were crazy at that time, first the funerals, then his last year at Hogwarts, then the Ministry tightening legislation against dark magic and creatures. He’d wanted to become an Auror at first but after hearing about a few new laws being enacted like a kill-on-sight order for werewolves and vampires, he’d become an impromptu political activist instead – trying to use his ‘fame’ for something good.

Then there was Hermione and Ron. At the time, he couldn’t understand how they refused to see that the Ministry was taking things too far and it made their friendship tense. Meanwhile he couldn’t even look at Ginny after the war despite her flirtations. Somehow she just seemed creepier than he remembered. Way too interested in how they’d look in public and already making plans to keep her figure after their children (when they’d barely even kissed!).

Later, of course, he found out how all three and even Molly were helping to organize some of the harshest policies behind his back with new Minister Shacklebolt, but at that point, he still trusted them and had hope that they just didn’t realize how insane things were getting.

That trust came back to bite him in the ass when he’d gone to them in a panic after seeing the first firing squad take down the entire Parkinson family in a public execution. After they’d let him into their home, listened politely enough for him to shut up, Ron knocked him out while Hermione distracted him and worthless platitudes about how the Ministry knew what they were doing. Apparently, they’d given up on convincing him as well and decided to simply bring him in - let the Ministry handle their wayward savior. But his notorious luck won out once again and he’d woken before the Aurors arrived and escaped.

Sighing at the horrid memories, Harry closed the front door behind him, accidentally slamming it.

Immediately, Walburga Black’s portrait curtains opened and she started in on one of her tirade’s.

“Foul intruder! How dare you enter the honorable House of Black. Get out! Bastard!”

His new cat scrambled out of his arms to disappear down the hallway and he couldn’t help an amused chuckle. He’d forgotten about the banshee and her tirades on purity but the irony this time was perfect considering his new identity.

Walburga sucked in a hissed breath, presumably shocked and incensed at his nonchalant attitude but before she could start up again Hadrian interrupted.

“Madam Walburga Black. How… interesting it is to finally meet you.”

“And who are you, intruder?” she sneered.

Hadrian smirked. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“My name is Hadrian Black, now Lord Black.”

Her eyes widened. “Lord?” she gasped and as if remembering her hatred, “There is no Hadrian Black! Who are you to enter my home and spread lies intruder?”

Hmm. Perhaps she hadn’t heard of Arcturus’ passing.

“Hardly, Madam. Lord Arcturus Black died last month and as the next in line, I was contacted. I have just come from Gringotts,” he raised his right hand, flashing the distinctive Lordship ring, “so I would be careful of your tone. As Lord of this estate, I can and will have you burned if you become a nuisance.”

He knew from experience how permanent her sticking charm was so burning was a much more effective threat.

Walburga had zeroed in on the ring as he spoke, first in shock and then in distaste as the rest of his speech registered. She couldn’t believe such an uncouth ruffian who must be from some side branch would be taking over the estate. It was a blemish on the family. She didn’t even know if he was pure!

“As for my name… well, does Lydia Bennet ring a bell?”

Walburga paled dramatically and if she weren’t a painting, Hadrian would have worried she’d faint at the implication. Oh, this was fun. Last time around he’d simply burned the witch’s portrait but there was no need if he could scare her into silence.

“Yes, it seems you do remember the ‘slut mudblood’ as you called her. Thanks to your efforts, mother was forced to work day-in and day-out to raise me and died much too young. So you can see that I do indeed have a rightful claim on the Lordship being Orion’s last available son, and I would have absolutely no issue burning you where you sit.”

He eyed her carefully and just as she opened her mouth to speak again, he interrupted. “So, I ask you politely for the only time to cease your screaming. If you can conduct yourself with the poise and nobility my mother claimed this House represented, you may stay in the entryway and greet visitors. If you find that too daunting and wish to be moved somewhere else in the house, you may request so at any time. However, if you step out of line or raise you voice to me again, you will be burned.”

The woman looked like she’d bitten a lemon but sneered out a semblance of a polite smile and with a forced ‘Yes, my Lord’ waved her curtains shut.

Hadrian just chuckled. The ‘Lady’ might as well have had a stick up her ass she was so uptight about Black purity. But he was curious to see if she could follow the rules and act polite. Though he wasn’t even sure if he’d be having any guests over to test that. He’d fideliused the place once before, he could do it again.

Wandering further into the house, Hadrian passed through depressing looking sitting rooms, a nasty bathroom, peaked into the musty kitchen and eventually found himself in the second floor library.

He gaped at the shelves and shelves of tomes, his mind blank in shock. How had he never suspected how empty the place was before. He was used to a wide open room with a couple tables and chairs, lots of floorspace and floor to ceiling bookshelves on the walls. He’d known Mrs. Weasley and company had thrown some stuff out since only a few shelves were filled but this was going on blasphemous.

The whole place was filled with standing bookcases with barely half a meter between them and it looked like every single shelf including those on the walls was stuffed. The tables he remembered were pushed up against the single window to the right of the door with an odd stone tablet conspicuously sitting in the middle.

Curious, Hadrian stepped closer and frowned darkly at the large tablet for a moment trying to decipher the old latin and runes scratched across its surface. Finally, almost 5 minutes later Hadrian had to sit down as the shock compounded. It was a filing system.

Magically connected to every book in the room it could be used to call books from the shelves based on almost anything. Title. Author. Phrase. Year.

It was bloody brilliant! Even Hogwarts didn’t have something like this! Granted, Hogwarts could benefit from something as simple as the Dewey Decimal System but this was amazing! Almost like the computer search engines he’d heard about in the late 2000s.

Hadrian was tempted to use it right now but knew he had other stuff to get started with first. He’d become a bit of bookworm when in hiding and loved learning new techniques or bits of history. In fact, a lot of those back alley deals he’d made were to collect black-listed books. If he let himself, he could stay there all day – or all year with the number of books there were. Why in Merlins balls did the Weasleys throw all this out? Surely some of it could have been useful for the war.

But of course. Dark magic was foul and anything even resembling it should be thrown in the trash.

With a forlorn sigh and a promise to himself to return soon, Hadrian stood up and continued wandering the house. He was kind of hoping Kreacher would seek him out but as he finished with the fourth floor, Hadrian had to admit that the elf might be avoiding him. There was no way he didn’t know Hadrian was there. Did he realize Hadrian was the new Lord and didn’t approve? He remembered Kreacher was quite opinionated when the Order were around.

Going back to the master bedroom, Hadrian examined the dusty bed in annoyance and decided enough was enough. He was not looking forward to cleaning and redecorating the whole house again and he really hoped Kreacher would be able to help.

“Kreacher!”

The wrinkled old elf popped in grumbling obscenities under his breath about unfit Lords.

Hadrian had to hold back a chuckle at Kreacher’s creative language but turned to the elf with a serious face.

“My name is Hadrian Black, now Lord Black.”

Kreacher glared at Hadrian mutinously. It looked like he might have to set up some ground rules. Hadrian remembered the role Kreacher had played in Sirius’ death and he refused to have such a vulnerability. It’s be safest to be as explicit as possible.

“Unless you wish to be freed, which you may request at any time, my word is law Kreacher. I do not tolerate disloyalty. You will not obey anyone else besides myself unless explicitly told to do so. You will not share any information about me or anything that happens in this house with anyone unless I explicitly allow it. You will get groceries and any household necessities using the house funds set aside for you. You will cook basic meals, I am not picky, unless I tell you I wish to cook something which may sometimes happen as I have cooked for myself my whole life. You will clean this house until it is immaculate and later, I will be requesting your help with some redecorating.”

Thankfully Kreacher was remaining silent but much like Walburga, he looked like he’d swallowed something foul.

“You will also wear a uniform.”

Kreacher’s eyes bugged out at that before Hadrian continued. “You will be representing the House of Black so I want you to look presentable. These are not clothes to free you, it is your duty to take care of your uniform and wear it proudly. You may design it as you’d like as long as it has the coat of arms displayed somewhere.”

Hadrian had to pause a bit to think if he’d forgotten anything, meanwhile Kreacher was shocked silent, still gaping at Hadrian like he’d said the Queen of England herself was a House Elf.

“Oh! And I’ve got a black cat…somewhere around here… It doesn’t have a name yet but please prepare a food dish and litter box somewhere downstairs. That’s all I can think of right now, but I’ll let you know if I have any more orders. For now, please clean the room while I shower and prepare some casual robes from whatever will fit me in the house. I’ve lost my wardrobe before coming here. I’ll take dinner in an hour and you’re free to spend the rest of the evening as you’d like, we’ll both be cleaning tomorrow.”

Kreacher didn’t respond beyond a vague nod before popping away so Hadrian shrugged his shoulders and headed towards the ensuite bathroom.

Casually stripping on his way, Hadrian made sure to throw his shrunken folio on the desk. It was a gift from the goblins. Magically expanded to contain all his new legal documents as well as summary folders of his four estates. His account managers had demanded he go through everything first before making an appointment to not waste their time. He’d look at it tomorrow. Although he may have learned to love reading with age, paperwork was something he’d always loathe. Too similar to homework.

Exiting the shower to a pleasantly steamy bathroom, Hadrian was just clearing the mirror to get a look at his stubble when his blood ran cold at his reflection. Leaning closer, he quickly lifted his fringe with a shaky hand.

Yep. It was official. He was an idiot.

He remembered so clearly now, in the notables section: _Horcrux in forehead (dormant)_

He’d even asked Fenlock about it but somehow in all the crazy, overwhelming mess, he’d forgotten.

But that scar wouldn’t let him forget.

A scar that he hadn’t seen in over a decade since it faded after the Battle of Hogwarts.

A scar that clearly indicated that the Horcrux was back and as annoyingly identifiable as ever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of action this chapter, but more coming soon.

Hadrian took a deep breath before leaning back and allowing his damp fringe to cover up the evidence.

He couldn’t think about this right now. It’d been a long day after a crazy morning which felt like it had been after an intense alley fight and weeklong recon in upper London.

He was tired, hungry and ready to not think for a bit.

Maybe it was denial, maybe it was taking care of his mental health.

In either case, Hadrian found himself robotically putting on the (seriously outdated) robes Kreacher left behind and trudging down to the kitchen for dinner.

Kreacher seemed a little miffed Hadrian had chosen to eat there instead of the stuffy dining room but kept silent while Hadrian practically inhaled the pork chop with potatoes and greens.

He assumed he must have made his way upstairs again at some point, but Hadrian honestly couldn’t remember when he finally woke up warm and cozy the next morning.

But knowing he needed to get his new identity settled before anything else, Hadrian did the adult thing and spent the next couple days going through the folio of accounts and talking with the goblins.

Arcturus’ will had thankfully been read upon his death and all that was left was to clean out his residence (which the goblins could do for a fee) and then close out his personal vault 233 which held a decent amount of galleons as well as an odd collection of quills from dozens of different types of birds. Apparently, they were collectable? Hadrian told the goblins to just sell them and combine everything into the family vault 220.

That one was a shocker because when Account Manager Glorite had told him there were millions, it hadn’t really set in.

Vault 220 had over 17 million galleons, a bunch of old tapestries, sleeping family portraits, racks and racks of expensive robes, charmed and plain jewelry, about a dozen wands and countless other knick-knacks which Glorite warned _might_ be cursed. Added on to what was in the town house and other properties, Hadrian was starting to realize that the Blacks might have had a bit of a hoarding problem.

Vault 400, which belonged to Sirius, was left alone for now but Hadrian knew he’d have to do something about his godfather soon as well as the rest of the Black family. He never realized how many living Blacks there were and wondered how many of them were still alive when he’d been in school. As the new Lord Black, especially planning to make waves on the political scene, he was going to need to organize a family meeting soon.

In the end Hadrian spent the entire second day just going through the Black estate folder and writing notes to Glorite on various investments and requesting further information on the living family members.

The third day was spent much the same but dealing with the Potter estate. Since Harry Potter was still technically alive (the golem still needed a couple days), he didn’t want to touch too much yet, but he prepared everything to be absorbed into the Peverell estate. The Potter Account Manager, Axel was sad to be out of work for awhile (until Hadrian decided on an heir and reinstated the family name) but accepted it was necessary in this case to keep the estate out of greedy ministry hands. The whole transfer would even be completely legal as the Blacks had intermarried with the Peverells almost as much as the Potters and so ‘Hadrian Black’ could claim the Peverell Lordship and absorb the ‘dead’ Potter line since he passed the Lordship requirement (being _touched by death_ ).

The Potters were also filthy rich in his opinion and Hadrian was suddenly regretting not fighting harder with the Goblin Nation after the war when they confiscated his accounts. Not quite as rich as the Blacks at around 2 million galleons, but the Potters had shares in a few businesses and owned close to 10 properties around the UK. Though it looked like 8 of those 10 were either empty lots or abandoned since no one had touched them asides from paying taxes since the mid-1800s. Interestingly, the cottage in Godric’s Hollow had been confiscated by the Ministry with only a single notice filed on November 10th, 1981 and no reparations. The 2 remaining properties were the Potter Manor and someplace called Daisy Cottage in Ireland.

He’d have to come back to everything when Harry died to clear out various vaults and perhaps have his parents’ wills read. They never were in the original timeline.

Later that evening, almost ready to tear his hair out in frustration over the never-ending paperwork, Hadrian tackled the Peverell and Slytherin estates.

Peverell was ridiculously easy since the vault was empty and there was only one property in Hogsmeade which he’d have to check out since the record was so old there wasn’t even a street name or apparition coordinates, just general directions from the closest landmark (Hogwarts) and instructions to re-activate the wards. Though it was described as a small one-story stone building with a chicken coop and paddock for a single horse.

Fenlock _had_ said it had been about 500 years since the last Lord and apparently that Lord had cleared everything out over his lifetime. First selling almost everything off to pay off his debts (repeatedly) and then passing out the rest to his children (who couldn’t inherit because of the requirement) upon his death.

Frustratingly, Dragrock, the Peverell Account Manager explained that the property was so old the land was considered unclaimed by the Ministry and he’d need to pay a fee when the wards reactivated and registered with the Department on Land and Property. He would then need to start worrying about taxes every year.

In an effort to make the estate self-sustaining like the Potter and Black accounts, Hadrian siphoned some money from those two for the Peverell portfolio, choosing to work with a few muggle tech companies he knew would take off in the future like Apple and Intel.

The Slytherin estate though, was much more interesting. No money or properties, and a smattering of antiques in the vault, mostly furniture according to the ledger. But more importantly, the Lordship included a 25% share of Hogwarts which equated to free tuition for all direct descendants, a 20% vote on any existing school board (apparently the board was more of a tie breaker between the Lords) and…. the ability to do inspections, financial audits and inquiries on any staff member including the Head.

Hadrian knew he looked like a fool giggling to himself in his new office, but it was just too perfect. The Slytherin Lordship had just handed him the ability to oust Dumbles from Hogwarts.

Much like the Peverells, the Slytherin vault was cleared by their descendants the Gaunts and, in fact, the Gaunt’s debts were retroactively absorbed into the Slytherin estate with its reactivation and the only Gaunt descendant being listed as *inaccessible.

Thankfully, Hogwarts was self-sustaining because their taxes would have fallen on the Lord(s). But unfortunately, because the Gaunts were piss-poor and had been behind even before Morfin was arrested, Hadrian owed the Ministry about 10,000 galleons in unpaid taxes on the tiny Gaunt shack.

Fucking taxes again. Going legal was annoying as hell.

At the earliest opportunity he was going to magically bulldoze that shack and sell it off, it just wasn’t worth it.

~

Three weeks later, Hadrian closed the last book that mentioned Horcruxes in the library with an irritated sigh.

He’d been busy the last few weeks.

First, Dumbledore was being an ass-hat and blocking every move they made to publicize golem Harry’s death. Muggle officials being mysteriously obliviated overnight, anonymous calls to the Aurors being answered by Shacklebolt or Moody, even their tip with the Daily Prophet went unanswered. What the old man thought this would do in the long run, Hadrian had no idea but for now it was fine because he and his managers had come up with another plan involving the Wizengamot.

Second, when he’d met with the goblins to sign paperwork, he also grabbed a wand from the Black vault, got himself an Ever-Full wallet and paid for (or got ripped off for) a permanent facial transfiguration so he could go out in public with less worry.

He still looked mostly like himself but with a stronger jaw, little more manageable hair and no more glasses – combined with his muscular build there was enough of a difference to look more like a Black than a Potter. Add a little muggle makeup on his scar and voila! Hadrian Black was ready for the Ministry.

Which is where he immediately went, signing in with his new (basically redundant) wand to get his apparition license. (Why this wasn’t in his original 50,000 galleon identity like his OWLS, NEWTS and fake Defense Mastery, he had no idea, but he had it now).

While messing with Dumbles behind the scene, he also started on a bit of research because, as he’d been frustrated to have confirmed by Gringotts, Tom’s horcrux really was back in his head as if it’d never left.

How? Why? Did it matter? The goblins had no idea. Not their type of magic they said. Talk to a shaman they said.

Where the fuck was he supposed to find a shaman? They didn’t know.

So, he got his wish to play around with the Black library for hours on end in his search for answers, which was great ironically since he doubted there was a better stocked library on illegal magics anywhere in Britain.

But with this last journal from somebody named Herpo the Foul, he’d gone through everything in the library that mentioned horcruxes. There was a lot more than he’d expected and apparently horcruxes were not just dark magic, they were a form of soul magic, otherwise known as spiritual magic (yes, the same one from the test – apparently it was a family talent of the Peverells and specialists were sometimes referred to as shamans which are categorized as dark magic practitioners by the ministry, wonderful!). A good 50% of what he’d read had been on the discipline, only offhandedly mentioning horcruxes as a possibility. Meanwhile the other 50% was usually in Olde English and almost too detailed reading more like research than books.

Hadrian sighed again and dropped the journal on top of his sheets of personal notes in annoyance. He’d learned a lot over the past couple weeks. At least enough to theorize what happened to him (with the horcrux, he still had no flipping idea how he ended up in 1985). But overall, he couldn’t even make a surefire decision to get rid of the thing or not because it involved that idiot Tom and he hadn’t come to a decision about him yet.

First off, there really were no records of any human horcruxes and only one experiment with a dog which ended up killing the dog (maybe Nagini only survived because she was magical? Or were snakes special?) which meant he really was unique. Then, apparently, you couldn’t actually destroy souls, or in this case soul pieces, so when he and his ex-friends had thought they were destroying bits and pieces of Voldemort, they were really only destroying the containers and setting the pieces free to roam the mortal realm.

He had to admit the whole thing was fascinating in a morbid sort of way.

The immortal soul bit was why horcruxes were so hard to destroy. Souls were meant to be housed in a biological being, not an object and the result imbued the object with the soul’s immortality. As a result, only a very complicated Samhain ritual or the most destructive magic could free the pieces. Both techniques put extreme pressure on the indestructability of the object until its _connection_ with the soul piece broke, popping the piece out, and the object was immediately destroyed due to residual power/poison.

Although there was little to base his guess off of besides his experience and a few notes on the reabsorption ritual, Hadrian thought it was likely that the piece of Tom in his head (since it couldn’t just disappear) was kicked out of 5-year-old Harry during his time travel. Then immediately and naturally reabsorbed into him because his body and soul had literally grown up around it creating a perfect container. There were a couple successful cases where a freed soul piece was absorbed back into its parent soul when the person was in the immediate vicinity - so un-aided absorption _was_ possible.

So, what did that mean for him now?

Herpo the Foul, who seemed to do the most recent research on horcruxes, theorized that since horcruxes acted as anchors for the primary soul piece, the freed pieces might slowly converge on each other invisibly on the mortal realm until they could merge and pass on to some immortal realm.

Which was cool but kind of useless.

Furthermore, there was no information about transferring soul pieces from container to container anywhere and Hadrian wasn’t sure if anyone had even tried but it was definitely NOT worth the risk to play around with soul magic on himself with no experience.

Which meant he had three options to deal with it.

  1. ‘Kill’ himself and set the piece free. Though there was no guarantee that he would survive again because the objects are supposed to be destroyed after and there was no definitive answer to why he survived that second killing curse except maybe luck and whatever made him a suitable container like Nagini. There was also the fact that he hadn’t found any rituals for absorbing freed soul pieces, only bound ones so letting it drift off in the mortal realm untethered might piss Tom off, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that yet since he now has a lot of the same goals and Tom might be useful.
  2. Experiment on Tom’s other Horcruxes until he could safely move/remove his piece of Tom without losing it. But again, taking risks with Tom’s soul would likely upset Tom and ruin any negotiations if he decides to go that route.
  3. Leave it in his head for now. Technically it was dormant and now that he knew occlumency, the mental connection (if Tom got a body again) was no problem. As far as he could tell it wasn’t even affecting his magic or lifespan, he wasn’t indestructible like the other horcruxes, and it never really affected him the last time around. Hadrian thought this might have something to do with how souls were supposedly naturally suited to biological containers (maybe human horcruxes weren’t that special and Herpo just never got around to those experiments?). But in any case, it was ignorable.



So really, the logical choice was to stick with option 3 until he could decide if it was worth fixing Tom now that he had a second chance.

Because he could _actually_ fix him.

That was a shocking bit of Herpo’s research, but a lot of his earlier work had been about the consequences of too many horcruxes (i.e. insanity, anger issues, lack of self control, paranoia and some physical mutation – and that was at 4 horcruxes, Tom must have been really fucked up at 7).

Since Herpo was obviously not experimenting on himself, he had designed the reabsorption ritual to be done by a third party which Harry could potentially use on Tom. But should he? Was it worth bringing in another variable? Tom must have been a true genius to have organized a war and built a following while certifiably insane, and Harry could use someone politically savvy for when Dumbles was gone. But he’d never really met a fully stable Tom. Even the 16 year old diary version was supposedly a warped interpretation according to Herpo because only the primary soul fragment contains the magical core and consciousness. So really, Tom would be a completely new person. Likely still ambitious, proud, ruthless and driven since those seemed to be the defining characteristics of diary Tom ignoring instability. But his political views? His desire to kill all muggles? Even what memories he might end up keeping would all be unknown.

Did he really want that kind of complication in his new life?

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hadrian decided to not think about it right now. He had other stuff to do, the first of which was eating lunch and planning the removal and assassination of Albus Dumbledore.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't decide if I want to bring back Tom or have him disappear. Though my Hadrian is by no means a politician so if there's no Tom, someone else will take over the political side of things. Thoughts or suggestions?

Hadrian chuckled at the odd image he walked into in the kitchen.

Kreacher stood imperiously above Cat’s food bowl, lecturing it on proper behavior in the house while Cat ignored him and ate happily, tail twitching every so often as Kreacher gesticulated.

Honestly, Hadrian had forgotten about the cat for the first week he’d been at Grimmauld. Then, one morning he’d walked in on a staring contest between Kreacher and the cat. Kreacher had finally finished his uniform but apparently the cat liked his mini tailcoat a bit too much and jumped at him every time the elf turned around.

Kreacher had scowled at the cat and then at Hadrian for laughing before popping away and leaving Hadrian to serve himself breakfast.

When Hadrian emerged from his research later that afternoon, he found Kreacher had changed his uniform into a spiffy waistcoat ensemble. Hadrian tried to tell him it looked great but somehow, he didn’t think the sincerity came across right as Kreacher had changed once again the next morning into a mini butler’s outfit.

Hadrian kept his mouth shut finally and that was that.

But since then, Kreacher seemed to take the cat under his wing, thereby naming it Cat and trying to teach it proper manners.

Hadrian didn’t mind. Cat was more Kreacher’s pet at this point than his and Cat seemed happy.

After a satisfying lunch (Hadrian swore Kreacher must have been putting more effort into their meals lately), Hadrian was tempted to take a nap or read for fun for the first time in weeks but too many things needed to get done still.

His mind was a mess, so scrubbing his head vigorously, Hadrian returned to the office he used on the first floor. It was October 7th already and the fall Wizengamot session was in five days on the 12th. He needed to be ready or the politicians would eat him alive.

So, he needed a plan and even if he’d gotten better at his whole jumping-before-looking problem over the years, his plans usually consisted of lists. So, settling at the old oak desk and momentarily getting distracted by the floating dust motes in the sunlight, Hadrian took out a muggle notepad and pen.

  1. Gather evidence for Peverell and Slytherin Lordships - goblins
  2. Gather evidence for absorbing Potter line - goblins
  3. Gather evidence of HP death + letters from Figg – goblins 
    1. Goblin rep. during session?
  4. Check if the above needs to be submitted prior to 12th
  5. Anything needed to claim seats?
  6. Call Black family meeting for next week(?)
  7. Get Wizengamot robes



And finally, since it occurred to him to wonder what would happen now that little Harry was gone…

  1. Check if prophesy still valid



He would have loved to collect the rat and get Sirius a trial already but even if he managed to sneak in to the Burrow and steal Percy’s pet, what then? What excuse could he give for knowing? Could he leave it at the Auror department with a note? But would that be taken seriously or thought a prank? Or worse yet, swept under the rug to hide the Ministry’s mistake? Amelia was supposedly Head of Law right now but he didn’t really know anything about the woman besides her being Susan Bones’ aunt. The whole thing was a mess. Perhaps he could play the concerned Lord card and inquire about the lack of trial for his ‘step-brother’ later. Sirius had lasted until 1993 last time, he could survive another couple weeks.

Hadrian grumbled but added to the list under a sharp line to indicate ‘think about it later’ topics.

  1. Get Sirius a trial + get rid of the rat (kill/capture)



He also would have jumped at the opportunity to just get rid of Dumbles by now but for the life of him, Hadrian couldn’t think of a way to off the old man without making him look like a martyr. After all, Dumblefuck had been very active over the past few years politically and had a significant following. Most of the light faction basically held his word as gospel and the rest, as well as the entire neutral faction, considered him an upstanding, wise and trustworthy old wizard.

Hadrian never realized when he was a kid, but Dumbledore really had been planning the removal of everything dark for decades. This kind of following didn’t just appear overnight or even in a few years.

Not only had Dumbles likely been cultivating every generation that passed through Hogwarts, but the scant Wizengamot literature Hadrian had read so far was frightening. Laws and policies restricting everything from creature rights to holiday rituals, discriminatory loopholes, and fewer and fewer limits for those in power. All signed in with majority votes which would be impossible if Dumbledore wasn’t on board.

It was honestly a surprise that Dumbles had turned down the offer to become Minister twice already, but Hadrian had no doubt the man preferred his grandfatherly image. It didn’t help that Hadrian knew it would end up being four offers before Fudge took office in 1990, which meant Minister Millicent Bagnold was likely in Dumbledore’s pocket as well. After all, what prominent political figure, especially one loved by the public, would voluntarily step down _repeatedly_. It was all about public image.

He couldn’t be sure how much of the future was literally planned out at this point. If Dumbles had it all written down or shared his ideas with anyone, Hadrian could just be making things worse by removing the hydra’s head.

So, he needed to wait a little bit.

Ideally, he’d like it to look like a natural death. Heart attack or stroke would be best. But besides having no idea how to do that (poison is NOT his specialty) he also had no idea what contingencies might be in place.

  1. Figure out a way to end D ‘naturally’ 
    1. Look into muggle drugs?



Honestly, resurrecting Tom and throwing him at the problem was looking better and better.

With his thoughts organized for now and a plan of action ready, Hadrian left for the ministry. First stop, the Wizengamot Administration Services.

~

“Good afternoon, sir, how can I help you?”

Hadrian smiled at the young, blond receptionist while trying hard not to cringe. Her sickeningly sweet perfume made him want to gag and the ridiculously large perm quadrupled the size of her head. She even had garishly large shoulder pads and bright blue eyeshadow contrasting with an orange robe/dress hybrid.

Yes, okay, the 80s had some unique fashion ideas and for the most part it was ignorable but what the hell was this woman thinking? That did not look good even in 1985. And Hadrian should know, he’d been paying close attention to the witches and wizards around him to try and blend in.

“Good afternoon, I’d like some information regarding claiming a line.”

The woman perked up immediately with a glint in her eye.

“Of course, sir.” She purred and leaned across her desk.

25 minutes later, Hadrian practically ran back into the elevator to escape the woman’s overly curious hands and fluttering eyelashes. He had goosebumps up his arms and would probably have nightmares about that perfume.

Did no not mean no in 1985?

Even if Hadrian had been straight, he would have been running for the hills from that gold-digger.

Thankfully despite her determination to become the next Lady of whatever house he was, the woman still answered all of his questions. So, after a quick stop in the DoM, Hadrian could head to Diagon and hopefully finish for the day.

The elevator dinged and a disembodied voice announced he’d arrived at Level 9 - The Department of Mysteries, so Hadrian got out and examined the dark hallway.

It was much like he remembered from his 5th year escapade, though the lighting was a bit better, as expected since he was actually here during business hours this time.

Though with no chirpy secretary up front or directions on the walls, Hadrian hesitated for only a moment before going further in. People weren’t supposed to be able to just walk on in, right? Maybe he’d be able to get this done without having to deal with anybody.

Keeping an eye out for workers he continued on to the door at the end of the hallway. At least after all those nightmares from Voldy, he’d never forget the way to the hall of prophesies! Finally at the end, Hadrian was just reaching for the door when a voice made him jump and flick out an automatic stunner.

Thankfully or maybe not, the man had managed to block Hadrian’s unconscious attack, but Hadrian now faced a very suspicious wand pointed at his forehead when he turned around.

Putting his hands up slowly, Hadrian tried to appear sheepish and apologetic. He knew he looked suspicious as all hell but maybe he could pull this off?

“Sorry! Sorry! You surprised me and my defense training just kicked in. It was reflex, I swear!”

The man who Hadrian now saw was about his age with fluffy brown hair and an absolutely insane amount of freckles with a thin frame, lost a bit of tension in his shoulders but kept his wand up.

“What are you doing here? No civilians are allowed on this floor.”

“I wanted to see if an appointment was necessary or something but there was no secretary or anything like the other floors. I really wasn’t trying to snoop, just trying to find somebody.” Hadrian slouched slightly and tensed his shoulders to appear like less of a threat. He didn’t know who this was or if he’d need to be knocked out or obliviated. One way or another, Hadrian was going to see that prophesy today.

But it seemed the man accepted Hadrian’s excuse as he lowered his wand and offered his own apologetic smile.

“No harm done. Sorry for scaring you. But you’ve got some serious reflexes there, surprised you’re not on the Auror corps.”

“No, no, I’m more of a scholar or creative type but I’ve always believed its better to have the training and not use it than not have it when you need it.”

“I couldn’t agree more! Samuel, by the way.”

Hadrian shook hands with Samuel, quietly noting a few details about this new character. The man favored his left side for some reason and had been watching his body language like a hawk but once he believed Hadrian wasn’t a threat, lost all his wariness and became an open book. Hadrian wanted to shake his head at the man’s own lack of training. Never fully let down your guard even if the person looked safe.

“Hadrian Black. You’re not so bad yourself by the way. I’ve dropped my own teacher by accident before.”

And just like that with a disarming smile, Hadrian managed to charm his new acquaintance as they talked training techniques in the middle of the DoM hallway.

Later, as if remembering where they were, Hadrian snapped his fingers and straightened from his deceptively casual slouch.

“Oh yeah! So, Samuel, could you help me? I got a tip that the Department of Mysteries could help me with a family problem, but I had no idea who to get in contact with.”

Samuel nodded and smiled happily, “Of course! Its rather unusual for someone to come down here directly but follow me, we can talk in my office.”

By the time they had arrived at a door back up the hall and settled into a tiny office space no more than 3 meters square, Hadrian had crafted his story. He had to be careful how much he revealed since he had no idea if this man knew or reported to Dumbledore but for the same reason, he needed it to be believable since it might end up connected to his new identity (since he’d stupidly used his new name).

“Well, I was told by my mother on her deathbed a few years ago that she had been given a prophecy about our family by her mother, who passed it on from her mother. She refused to tell me what it said no matter my begging, just that it existed, and it was only recently that I heard a rumor the DoM might keep track of prophecies.”

Hadrian cringed and took on a frustrated tone. “I’d really hope she was messing with me or its just a family legend, but I think it would be safer to check don’t you think?

The man, Samuel, had listened quietly before looking down at his desk as his body tensed up. He seemed to be deliberating seriously with himself on something until his eyes flickered to the files on his desk before staring intently at Hadrian again.

“I see.”

Hadrian waited for the man to continue, this was rather odd behavior of his new friend, but it was almost a full minute before Samuel opened his mouth again.

“I am sorry to say those rumors were incorrect. The Department of Mysteries does not keep records of prophecies and I have no idea how that would even be done.”

Hadrian almost allowed his shock and anger to show on his face (he knew that was a straight out lie) but kept calm when he noticed the man’s eyes were staring so intently at Hadrian, obviously trying to tell him something. So Hadrian kept silent.

His patience paid off when another minute passed and the man nodded to himself as if agreeing with his own assessment before standing up and waving Hadrian back into the hallway with a motion to stay silent.

Following the man back to The Door, Hadrian finally heard his guide whisper while they walked.

“I’d agree that no one wants the mess a prophecy might add to their life or worse their children’s lives and more than likely its nothing. Off the record, it’s a rather easy procedure to check and you’re damn lucky that I’m the only one in office today.”

Hadrian snorted at that. Luck. Wasn’t he always lucky in some way? Lucky to survive Voldy again and again. Lucky to get the right intel on time to save a family. Lucky to go back in time. Now apparently lucky to run into the one DoM member who was willing to bend the rules for him. Yeah, he was lucky all right. But how was he supposed to know the hall of prophecies was secret? It sure as hell wasn’t a secret after his 5th year. He’d been hoping to make an appointment or something when he brought it up.

“Okay, now, just follow me and don’t touch anything.”

Hadrian smiled and nodded his thanks, all along wondering how hard it might be to catch the man off guard. Samuel was probably risking his job to show Hadrian the hall of prophesies and he wanted to know the truth, but he didn’t want anyone else to know. Dumbledore would shit a brick if he found out someone knew about the prophecy, let alone looked at it. Or alternatively what kind of tales would this man tell when they ended up in front of the orb labeled ‘Dark Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter’ when he was supposedly guiding Hadrian Black?

Swiftly leading Hadrian through the circular room of shifting doors and somehow opening the exact one they needed on the first try, Samuel lead Hadrian into the hall of prophesies.

Hadrian was immediately distracted by the almost endless rows of dimly glowing orbs (but again, with better lighting this time!) until Samuel pulled him aside in front of a previously unnoticed small table with a distinctly familiar rune inscribed tablet on top.

Samuel smirked cheekily at Hadrian, getting some of his earlier cheer back as he leaned casually on his hands, “The orbs are probably pretty self-explanatory but this little beauty is our pride and joy. Just push a little magic into the center and wait and see.”

Fuck, that looked suspiciously like the tablet in the Black library and if it did what he thought it might do, there was no way he was going to be able to keep his particular orb a secret.

Reaching as if to place his hand on the tablet, Hadrian took advantage of the man’s lowered guard and swiftly flicked his wrist with a deliberate stunner this time. As Samuel froze in place and collapsed half-on the table, Hadrian gave him a small apologetic smile. Samuel seemed like a nice guy but this was too important to risk getting out.

He could go wandering the stacks like before but honestly, using the tablet was bound to be loads faster. So, without further ado, he followed Samuel’s earlier instructions and waited. Then just like the Black library (he wondered if one of the tablets was based off the other), it glowed briefly before flickering and going silent…?

That couldn’t be right.

If it really worked like the library one, a flicker indicated no results.

That could be good – prophesy is null and void but somehow Hadrian didn’t think that was it. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he turned back to the shelves and stalked down the nearest aisle.

15 minutes later Hadrian was finally looking at the damn orb he remembered from years ago in aisle 97.

_S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D_

_Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter_

Exactly as he remembered. Quickly checking for spells and wards before touching it, Hadrian found nothing.

Running off a new hunch, Hadrian scanned the next orb over and grit his teeth at the result. Obviously, nothing dangerous but the base holding the orb steady held a proximity ward tied into the orb itself, presumably limiting only those prophesied to picking it up. It didn’t even have a trigger mechanism or defense, only protection so Harry reached out and found his fingers brushing against an invisible barrier.

Anger simmering in his gut, Hadrian knew he needed to test this before listening to what he now thought was probably a fake prophecy.

So, shoving his hatred of Dumbledore to the side, 5 minutes later found Hadrian again in front of the prophesy but with an imperioused Samuel at wand point.

He hated the imperious even more than legilimency but that didn’t mean he never used it. All magic was a tool and all tools can be misused and abused, not to mention a danger to the user if they are never taught properly. After seeing the wizarding world tear itself apart with hatred and prejudice, he would be a hypocrite to say the ‘Unforgivables’ were truly unforgivable. They had their uses.

And this was one of them.

If circumstances were different he would ask a friend to test his theory but not only was he alone in this but he hadn’t had a real friend in years, so mind-controlled-Samuel would have to do.

Projecting his will, Hadrian watched Samuel reach forward and pick up the prophecy with no trouble at all.

Hadrian stared unseeing at the orb now held gently in Samuel’s hand. He didn’t want to admit it. Not really. It meant that literally everything about his life and the war with Voldemort had been set up. It really was all a master plan.

Fake prophecies didn’t just appear in the DoM and Trelawney was a hack and a drunk, she wouldn’t even know about the hall let alone how to get in and set this up.

With a flick of his wand, he ordered Samuel to drop the orb and they both watched as the orb shattered and the disembodied, scratchy tenor of Sybill Trelawney started up.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."_


	6. Chapter 6

Getting out of the DoM was much faster than getting in after Hadrian had memory charmed Samuel to forget their entire encounter.

He was tempted to leave the start of their conversation even up to testing for a prophecy. Samuel seemed like good bloke, the kind he could easily spend an evening joking over beers with. But he couldn’t risk any sort of tie with Harry Potter and given how his name was likely going to be all over the papers when he announced himself in the Wizengamot, he couldn’t trust what gossip might come out.

Quickly navigating the busy emporium (the workday must have just ended), Hadrian apparated out to the Leaky Cauldron and stomped his way into Gringotts. Only to come out some 15 minutes later even more frustrated than before.

Apparently, his Account Managers had been talking behind his back, which was fine really since they seemed to be in agreement that Dumbledore needed to go, but they’d advised him none-too-kindly to throw away the letters he’d gotten from Figg and forget about persecuting Dumbles until he had more evidence.

But the letters were the best he had against Dumbledore, clearly showing he’d been aware of the abuse and told his little spy to ignore it, but they weren’t permissible in court.

He really should have known that stolen evidence wouldn’t be worth shit when he was trying to go the legal route. But dammit it’d been almost a decade since he’d put any stock in following the law and he’d been so excited to find something like that!

But apparently if he brought them up in the Wizengamot he’d end up being arrested instead of Dumbledore.

Grumbling to himself, Hadrian stomped over to a bench near Knockturn’s entrance before slumping down. Just ‘cause he was upset didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy a little people watching. 1985 Diagon was loads friendlier and happier than 2009 Diagon and he couldn’t help reveling in the atmosphere. He was used to people being detained for questioning if they so much as looked at another too long let alone sat down to casually watch shoppers go by. It was nice to see people laughing and jostling about after work.

Though his nice break was shattered when a shriek pierced the evening air. Hadrian turned to look along with most of the alley and a found a family of red heads coming out of Fortescue’s Ice Cream.

Molly and Arthur Weasley were fussing over their youngest who now sported bright yellow hair instead of her usual red. Young Ginny didn’t seem to care as she enjoyed her ice cream while Ron seemed to be trying to get Arthur’s attention, pulling on his sleeve and pointing at the ground where it looks like his ice cream had fallen.

Ah, and there’s the brush off. Arthur shushed little Ron before turning back to his once-again-shrieking wife as she turned to tower over the barely 8-year-old twins. Instances like this probably happened all the time but Hadrian shook his head in disgust. For having so many kids, the elder Weasleys could really use some lessons on parenting. He sometimes wondered how Ron might have turned out if he’d been given more attention when he was little. It wasn’t healthy to constantly be overlooked both for the good and the bad.

It was almost enough to motivate him to stand up and interfere. But he didn’t, after all that would put him on Dumbledore’s watch list no doubt and since the kids weren’t really being abused, what could anyone really do?

So instead, he along with all the other gawkers watched the noisy bunch head to the Leaky Cauldron and breathed a sigh of relief when they disappeared, once again letting quiet settle over the alley.

After a few more minutes of people watching and noticing that he was quickly losing daylight, Hadrian got up and headed to Twilfitt and Tattings on the other side of Gringotts. He’d never actually been to the establishment but the creepy secretary he’d talked to advised him that they were the only clothier certified to make Wizengamot robes (more like they held some kind of contract with the Ministry he thought).

Walking in, Hadrian was surprised at how light and airy the place seemed. Although it had been years since he visited, he remembered Madam Malkin’s being filled with rolls of cloth, pre-sized robes and other knick-knacks. This place had a few mannequins in various states of undress, a nice seating area with baby blue leather couches and what looked like a curtained off sizing area. He turned to a smiling young woman, probably barely out of Hogwarts and bowed politely with his hand over his heart. Silently thanking whoever thought to add children’s etiquette books to the library.

“Good evening, miss. I am here to place an order for Wizengamot robes.”

The young woman barely blinked before giving him a professional smile. “Certainly, sir. We’ll need to do your measurements first before you can choose the security charms and pay. It will take 2 days to process your order and you can choose to pick them up or have them delivered.”

Hadrian smiled in relief. At least this one wouldn’t be pawing all over him. Even if she _was_ interested, such uncouth behavior would probably never be allowed at such a high-end establishment.

Hadrian almost snickered at his own thoughts as he followed her behind the curtain to be measured, because if a worker at a clothing shop had more professionalism than the secretary for the Wizengamot Administrative Services department, what did that say about the Wizengamot?

All finished, they headed back to the front as the woman, Sage as she’d introduced herself, took out an order form. Going down the list, Hadrian ended up ordering every protective charm they had including a shield for all minor hexes and an impervious charm against all stains and wrinkles. The only option he didn’t get was a type of glamour charm to slim down the wearer which he felt was a bit too vain for him.

“All right, and finally your name for pick-up and the Lordship you will be taking? So we may add the crest. All embroidered crests are free of charge.”

“Hadrian Black and please add the crests for Black, Potter, Peverell and Slytherin.”

The woman’s hand jerked across the page, leaving a wide ink smudge and Hadrian would be tempted to laugh a bit but the poor girl went from surprise to horror and impending doom in 2 seconds flat.

Hadrian took pity on the girl as Sage fluttered uselessly over the form, flustered and turning bright red at her mistake in front of such an important customer. With a flick of his useless wand (to keep up appearances), he carefully vanished the smudge, leaving the rest of his order intact.

“Calm down, no harm done, see? I should have warned you before.”

The girl laughed lightly in relief that he wasn’t upset. No doubt she’d had some demanding and stuck-up customers here. He chuckled before continuing.

“There’ll probably be a lot of the same reaction on Saturday.”

“Is that the fall session, sir?” Sage seemed to pull herself together and flipped back to pleasantly professional as if the past couple minutes never happened.

“Yeah. To be honest, I’m not much of a politician but the Lordships come with responsibility, so I’m learning.”

Sage smiled a little more warmly at that and they finished up the order.

“Thank you miss, I’ll see you again in 2 days.” If only Hadrian had a hat, this seemed like a hat-tipping kind of encounter.

“Of course, sir. Thank you for your patronage.”

With that, he walked out into the now much darker street before apparating home to re-do some plans.

~

5 days later just before 9am on Saturday morning, Hadrian stepped out of the floo at the Ministry dressed to impress. He’d been a little dubious of the long velvet robes, but thought he cut an impressive figure nonetheless, especially with his hair grown out slightly and pulled into a tail at the back of his neck.

Very pureblood-ish, he thought.

Walking briskly up to the wand checkpoint, he was surprised to see the guard simply wave him past without even looking at his face.

Whenever he thought the Ministry couldn’t get more careless, they went and lowered the bar again.

Perhaps the war and subsequent anti-dark regime made him paranoid and this was normal? Surely, some sort of check should be mandatory. What if someone were to impersonate a Wizengamot member? They could literally just walk in unimpeded!

He briefly wondered about Moody as he entered the elevator with a frazzled looking worker and a few flying notes. His ex-friends always joked about Mad-Eye Moody and his CONSTANT VIGILANCE! But the guy was probably the only smart one in the order. Except maybe Snape. He seemed like a survivalist as well, just quieter about it.

Back on Level 2, Hadrian was pleased but also bemused at the shuffling group of witches and wizards in similar Wizengamot robes shuffling outside a pair of large double doors at the end of the hallway. They looked rather like school children waiting outside a classroom and Hadrian had to repress a chuckle at the irony of social cliques carrying on after Hogwarts. It was subtle but there were distinct groupings and as a few Lords and Ladies moved to mingle with their neighbors, the social ties or sometimes the lack-thereof were obvious.

Thankfully the secretary was gone and Hadrian was able to avoid notice for a bit as he observed the others.

He could recognize a few faces here or there, mostly from their resemblance to their children like Dodicus Goyle or the Patil twin’s mother, Lady Patil. Then there were the few he knew himself like Lucius Malfoy or ironically Robert Parkinson, whose family’s death had marked what Hadrian liked to call the end of the Light Ministry’s attempts at cooperation. It wasn’t even 24 hours after that first mass execution that the island’s wards went up.

Surprisingly, and thankfully, a lot of pureblood families knew things were already getting out of control and fled immediately. The Malfoys for example. Lucius had been in prison since the end of the war with Voldemort (though the prison was swept clean a few months after lockdown to save resources) while Draco had lived quietly off his inheritance with his mother Narcissa and his wife Astoria Greengrass. They were one of the first to leave seemingly as soon as news got out of what happened to the Parkinsons. The rest of the Greengrass family followed but just barely made it out. Hadrian, of course, never heard from any of them again, though he had dealings with a lot of the families left behind.

Almost as if responding to his morbid thoughts, another familiar face turned from the crowd and noticed Hadrian in the back.

Thestius Nott, Theodore Nott’s grandfather. Theo’s father, also named Theodore was currently in Azkaban as a convicted Death Eater. Thestius was a proud, stern man who unfortunately had been bedridden just before lockdown and Theo couldn’t bear leaving him behind. The two ended up becoming frequent customers of his as Thestius wouldn’t dare see a healer with his and Theo’s reputation and ended up falling back on muggle medications for his lung issues.

Thestius nodded at Hadrian in appropriate gentility with the supposed stranger before turning away. Though his distraction did not go unnoticed by the others and whispers broke out about the newest Lord as people began peeking his way.

Finally, the doors opened and the creepy secretary welcomed everyone with a wide smile. At least her outfit was a little less gag-inducing today. Simple purple robes. “Good morning, Lords and Ladies. We’ll be starting in a few minutes, please be seated.”

Walking in with the rest of the Lords and Ladies, Hadrian tried to inch past her without notice but she must have been on the lookout for him because suddenly his arm was grabbed and pulled close to her chest as she simpered up at him.

“Oh, sir! How wonderful to see you again. You can’t hide your name for much longer.” She giggled. “Come with me, new entries sit by the secretary until announced.”

She batted her eyelashes at him as Hadrian tried in vain to extricate his arm without making a scene but ended up being pulled along instead.

The sickeningly sweet perfume was there too, and Hadrian felt he was getting a bit dizzy from being so close to the source. But the woman continued on towards the bottom row of the circular amphitheater rambling away about something which he studiously ignored.

Going down the rows, Hadrian was briefly distracted by the set up of the Wizengamot chambers. The whole room vaguely resembled a sphere with rows of concentric rings from the bottom to the middle and a glass ceiling at the top. Each row had a table built-in while the seats were marked with house crests. The whole place was sectioned in three seemingly for the Lords and Ladies, the Ministry whose section had a large podium and further sectioned by department, as well as a section that seemed to be for journalists.

The secretary was still talking his ear off but seemed to be leading him to a table below the Lords and Ladies section. Good he’d still be able to keep an eye on Dumbledore.

Who, speak of the devil, just walked in.

As Hadrian was seating himself, thankfully 2 chairs down from the woman who was forced to sit in her designated spot, the Ministry Officials began trickling in through a door opposite the one he’d entered through.

Bartemius Crouch Sr who was heading the Department of International Cooperation now (previously Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but forced to retire after the blow to his reputation of having a Death Eater son – who Hadrian should probably check on since he was supposedly ‘dead’ right now). Amelia Bones, new Head of Law Enforcement in quiet conversation with Thaddius Englewood, Head Auror before Rufus Scrimgeour. Many others as well, some in formal wear some not and then finally, in the back, Minister Bagnold walking in on the arm of Albus-too-many-names Dumbledore.

Hadrian grit his teeth but maintained a pleasantly curious mask, aware that he was being stared at as more and more people, including the journalists trickling in, noticed the new Lord. It would tip his hand too soon to be seen glowering at the great and powerful Albus Dumbledore.

Meanwhile, whispers of the name ‘Black’ were starting to get louder, which made sense, Arcturus Black had died almost 2 months ago.

Hadrian almost got caught staring when another department head leaned over to the two powerhouses and they turned to look at the new Lord as well.

Honestly, it was like he was back at Hogwarts. These people were supposed to be adults, was the staring and whispering behind their hands really necessary?

Finally, everyone settled down and Hadrian was disgusted to notice that podium was for Dumbledore a few seats down from the Minister. It must be for the Chief Warlock role, they were supposed to ‘oversee parliamentary affairs and court procedures’. Proving him right, Dumbledore banged a gavel to call order to the session before indicating a secretary one row down to speak.

The waspish little man reminded Hadrian a little too much of Dolores (who he also saw, thankfully in one of the rows further back indicating a minor post) and his squeaky voice grated on the ears.

“Opening Wizengamot Session 1747 of the Autumn Season on October 12th, 1985. Presiding Minister Millicent Bagnold. Presiding Chief Warlock Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore of the Light Party. Session agenda includes one swearing in of a new Lord, review of open items from Session 1746 and 8 new items.”

Dumbledore twinkled at the squeaky man who Hadrian suspected might faint from hero worship if it went on much longer, then straightened to share that twinkle with the rest of the room.

“Thank you, Reginald. As mentioned, I would like to welcome to the floor our newest member Hadrian Black. Please move to the center for your vows, my boy.”

Interesting, how had the old man known his name already? The grandfatherly image was too strong even for Hadrian and he couldn’t tell if Dumbledore knew more or if he’d simply heard rumors of him in Diagon and connected the dots.

In either case, Hadrian was going to enjoy cracking that façade and shared a calm smile with the room before standing in the center to face the crest above the Minister’s seat.

Which way to face was optional but usually said something of the person’s allegiance according to some the journals he’d found of previous Lord Blacks (whether they faced the chief warlock, their particular faction in the Lords and Ladies section or even the journalists to indicate the citizens). By looking at the crest specifically, Hadrian hoped to indicate a preference for law and order despite what he was about to say.

“I, Lord Hadrian Janus Black-Potter-Peverell-Slytherin, hereby claim the 5 Black seats, the 3 Potter seats and the Slytherin seat to be aligned with the Dark Party.”

He would have claimed the Peverell seat but apparently the current form of the Wizengamot was too new, having only been established just over 200 years ago. Although the Slytherins lived on through the Gaunts and received a seat, the Peverell name was long dead by that point.

Meanwhile shocked gasps rang out, quickly followed by hushed conversations. A Lord four times over! Controlling 9 seats! All aligned with the Dark Party!

Everyone in the room felt the wards ping and settle as his identity was verified then watched in growing horror as the crest he’d been staring at glowed brightly accepting his claim.


	7. Chapter 7

Dumbledore was frozen in place and Hadrian almost burst out laughing in glee. The old man obviously didn’t see that coming.

He might have assumed the Black seats would be claimed since it was fairly obvious the new Lord was a Black and the Blacks had always voted dark. But the Potters were a key political force in the Light faction. Aligning the Potter seats with the dark faction would force the Macmillans, Abbots and Shafiqs (as well as the Prewetts if they were active) to vote however the Potter seats voted. They were literally contractually obligated to until the alliance could be formally dissolved.

And it was all Dumbledore’s fault since he was the one to force the alliances. Legally, unfortunately, since James named Dumbledore as his proxy in 1978 when the elder Potters passed away and Dumbledore simply continued using the seats after 1981. Sure, most proxies stepped down until an heir could re-instate them, but it wasn’t illegal to use the seats until the contract has been officially closed.

Even better though? Despite Dumbledore’s recruiting and desperate politicking, the light faction was only barely holding a majority before this. Even when the alliance is broken, with the changeover of the Potter seats and the additional Slytherin seat, dark was the new majority – and Dumbledore was no longer Chief Warlock!

So, in one fell swoop he’d destroyed a good third of the old man’s power.

Hadrian cleared his throat lightly before smiling benevolently at the frozen man. “I do believe a new Chief Warlock is in order?”

The muttering in the chamber was getting louder and Dumbledore finally unfroze only to give Hadrian a slightly apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, my boy but there is simply no way your claim is valid. Harry Potter is the Potter Heir, not to mention there hasn’t been a Slytherin or Peverell in centuries and although the Blacks are a large family I don’t believe I’ve ever heard your name. I hope you understand that we will require proof of your claims as you wouldn’t be the first to trick the Wizengamot wards. We simply cannot allow you to vote today without verifying the truth.”

Hadrian clenched his jaw tightly but maintained the pleasant smile. So that’s how he was going to play. Hold him back for today and then try and bring him to the light (or get rid of him) before the next session. It was a good thing he’d come prepared.

“Certainly, sir. I actually came prepared today to do just that.”

Oh, how he loved to see that twinkle dim.

Hadrian pulled out his favorite folio from the expansion pouch on his waste and extracted three copies of the Lordship claim documents (with slightly altered dates thanks to Glorite and Axel) to pass to a waiting secretary. The secretary then presented the documents to a goblin representative waiting on the side for authentication (he’d been glad to learn there was always a representative present for such things). Once Amelia Bones, Minister Bagnold and Dumbledore had a chance to read the authenticated documents (there really should be a seat here in the middle for waiting), Hadrian couldn’t help a little smirk from finally making its way on his face.

Amelia spoke up first, “Lord Black, if that is your preferred short name, I see your claim to the Black, Peverell and Slytherin seats is valid, if a little unusual… but Chief Dumbledore is correct, Harry Potter is the last Potter and only he can claim the lordship.”

Hadrian nodded, standing at attention to address the room at large. “Lord Black is fine and that would be true, Madam Bones,” he paused for a little drama, “IF Harry Potter were alive.”

This time shouts and questions broke out across the chamber, even a few flashes of a camera from the journalist section, meanwhile Dumbledore’s mask finally showed a bit of a crack. His twinkle wasn’t so bright and was that a vein in his forehead? Maybe they’d get lucky and the old man would have an aneurism.

But Dumbledore’s mask smoothed over almost immediately, and he loudly banged his gavel again, calling for order under threat of removal. “That is a severe and dangerous claim Mr. Black. Harry should be safe with his family as we speak, and his theoretical death still does not give you claim to the Potter Lordship or seats.”

Hmmm, something about the phrasing and Dumbledore’s tone seemed odd. What was he planning?

“No need to worry Mr. Dumbledore,” ah, an eye-twitch this time, the man really did like his titles, “I came prepared to back up my claims.”

He passed on the evidence of Harry Potter’s death this time. Both a magical death certificate and a muggle one (which was a pain to track down with Dumbledore’s cover-up but thank Merlin for the neurotic filing practices of the Surrey Police Department). He gleefully watched Dumbledore pale as the two women gasped theatrically at the documents. He could tell the journalists were salivating at the play-by-play as well, so why not give them a little more? See how Dumbledore handled having what he tried to hide for weeks thrown in his face?

“As you can see the Potter family was originally an offshoot of the Peverells. When I passed the requirements for the Peverell Lordship, you can imagine my surprise when I was also told the Potter Lordship would be automatically brought back into the family since the last Potter had passed away with no named heir. So of course, I investigated and having control of the Potter accounts, I was able to find Harry Potter’s magical death certificate in the family vault. The muggle one was a little harder to find but no less informative.”

He took a deep breath to grow the suspense, “Shown clearly on both death certificates, Harry Potter died not even three weeks ago of blunt force trauma to the head. What I found interesting was the evidence of long-term abuse. Mis-healed bones, bruises, malnutrition, these things don’t develop overnight. You claim to have placed Harry Potter with a loving family and looked over him all these years, Mr. Dumbledore. How could you have missed our Savior being abused?”

People were shouting again and he had to raise his voice at the end to be heard by the scribe at least.

“This cannot be!” Dumbledore’s expression darkened and Hadrian was mildly impressed by the sudden shift from grandfather to vengeful general. “I trusted them! How dare they- Aurors! Go to 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey and arrest the Dursley family. We will have answers!”

Ah, so that’s the route he chose. _He didn’t know_. _He trusted them_. Make himself seem like the bringer of justice.

Then again, what use would bringing in the Dursleys have? As the goblins described it, Dumbledore and his servants were obliviating everyone left and right in Surrey. He wouldn’t have left the Dursleys alone, that’s too much of a loose end for a master manipulator.

As Dumbledore called for a break while they waited for the Dursleys to be brought in, Hadrian briefly considered bringing up his parent’s wills as well. When he’d finally gotten to read them, they stated very clearly that Harry Potter was to go to literally anyone but Petunia Dursley. But the wills wouldn’t really change anything at this point. Dumbledore’s response would be the same and although people might be a little disappointed in him in the short term, they would forgive. After all, Dumbledore was such a _good_ _man_ , he couldn’t have known how bad Petunia and her husband would be. He thought it was for the _greater_ _good_ to allow Harry a normal childhood. No, it was better to keep his knowledge silent for now.

Hadrian smirked a bit as he went up the stairs into the dark section’s seating. Front and center next to the most powerful Lords of the dark faction was a new chair embroidered with four crests. No matter the mess with the Dursleys, Harry Potter’s death was irrefutable, and he could now take his seat and vote.

While he could tell the other Lords, particularly Lord Malfoy who should now be Chief Warlock thanks to Hadrian, wanted to talk to him, they held their tongues. There would be time for arranging alliances after the session and it wouldn’t look good to ignore the Harry Potter situation with the journalists watching their every move. So, they waited. And Hadrian made plans for who might be a problem and how he might take advantage of the light alliance under the Potter name. It would take a few weeks to process since Dumbledore didn’t want limits, he wanted them to vote with him without question.

Maybe he should also arrange for an interview soon to avoid being hounded with questions. Get everything out there and hopefully people would shut up faster.

After all, he _did_ intend to have that peaceful life eventually. He wasn’t going to waste his second chance no matter the state of things. He’d try his best to fix the Wizarding world, certainly he’d get rid of a few people who don’t deserve to breathe, but worst come to worst, he’d flee the country with the purebloods.

Finally, after half an hour, Dumbledore called the session together again with his ‘serious face’ still on. “Let it show on the record that session 1747 was interrupted and a new 9th item was moved to the front of the agenda. We will now proceed with the trial and interrogation of Vernon and Petunia Dursley as the public has a right to know what became of the Boy-Who-Lived. Aurors-”

Really? That’s their excuse for a sudden trial? _The public has a right to know?_ Merlin, Dumbledore was really just covering his ass at this point. He must have really caught the old man off guard.

But Lucius stood up and interrupted Dumbledore’s little speech by clearing his throat.

“I do believe, Mr. Dumbledore that you are in my seat. If I were to allow you to continue acting as Chief Warlock, we would be forced to strike the results of any trial from the record.”

Lucius received a few glares from the Dumbledore supporters, but no one could refute his claim. There was a new Chief Warlock and with how much the public was going to riot when news got out, they needed everything to go by the book.

Oh, the gossip.

“Of course, my boy. After the horrific news, it must have slipped my mind.” Dumbledore stepped down from the podium lightly while smoothing down his beard, the picture of gracious defeat.

Once Lucius stood up at the podium the crest flashed once again, accepting the change of office. No doubt Lucius was crowing in delight inside, but his face remained in a stoic mask as he addressed the room and nodded to the Minister.

“I thank you all for your patience everyone. Let it also be added to the record that session 1747 had a change of Chief Warlock before the first item of the day. Now, Aurors, please bring in the accused.”

~

Hadrian was left blinking in mild shock by the end as Petunia and Vernon Dursley were dragged away to Azkaban.

The entire trial was a complete and utter sham.

Minister Bagnold had taken over from Lord Malfoy almost as soon as the Dursleys entered because they were dealing with _such a sensitive case_. Yet her ‘trial’ if it could even be called that consisted of asking leading questions and allowing Vernon and Petunia to rant unimpeded. No procedure, no evidence, not even a Ministry appointed lawyer. Until finally, she had the Aurors silence them and called the Wizengamot to vote on their guilt in committing child abuse.

Of course, everyone including Hadrian voted guilty. No one wanted to be seen as impeded justice for the Savior and even if the original Harry Potter never died, he could admit at almost 30 years old that Vernon and Petunia were abusive.

Then the Minister herself decided their punishment was to be 100 years in Azkaban each while Dudley would go to muggle foster care. Never mind the fact that there was no precedent for keeping squibs and muggles at the magical prison and Vernon would likely die before the week was out. Petunia might last a year or two if she was lucky since Hadrian was pretty certain the woman was a squib.

But the Ministry Officials and everyone else seemed to approve of the verdict so that was that.

At least Hadrian got his question answered about Dumbledore leaving the Dursleys with their memories.

Petunia might have hated his guts and approved of Vernon’s abuse, but she had never actually hit him until he was older. By this point in time, she should have been negligent but not abusive. Yet the woman gloated about smacking her own nephew across the face for accidental magic and screamed about putting him on the right path and getting rid of his freakishness just like Vernon. It was at that point, Hadrian realized Dumbledore must have allowed a 30-minute break for a purpose when getting the two should have only taken a few minutes. They were memory charmed – probably after having been obliviated a couple weeks ago. And Hadrian would bet that the two Aurors who collected them were some of Dumbledore’s lackeys in the department.

He quickly memorized their faces before they could leave.

With the trial over and everyone feeling emotionally wrung out, Lord Malfoy called for another break for lunch.

This time, Hadrian got up with everyone else intent on heading home for a quick bite (no use going to the Ministry cafeteria and being bowled over by curious Lords and reporters).

Out of the corner of his eye, Hadrian noticed Dumbledore watching him. He was mildly surprised the old man didn’t corner him for a talk but perhaps he was too much of a wild card right now. Dumbledore was a master at chess and wouldn’t want to make any moves without all the information.

Instead, Lord Malfoy caught up to him as he reached the door to the chambers.

“Lord Black, welcome to the Wizengamot. I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Lord Malfoy.”

The blond man, looking much younger than Hadrian remembered offered his hand and Hadrian accepted. He hadn’t liked Draco’s father because of his strict beliefs and arrogance but he had been a political powerhouse before the second war and Hadrian could use his expertise.

“No, we have not, and Hadrian, please. I suspect we may be seeing more of each other.”

“Yes, I believe so as well and please, call me Lucius. I was wondering if you would like to join me for lunch. I have a permanent table at the Blue Bowl.”

“I’d be delighted.”


End file.
